


Pain Is Merely a Surface

by maximusia



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximusia/pseuds/maximusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco does the only thing he can think to do: ride back to Xiangyang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed, set at the end of the finale. This came at me out of nowhere and still not sure where I was going with it beyond the boys being in pain. I tried to do some cursory research on traumatology for the time, but...
> 
> Edit: I just realized how far apart the two cities actually are? Oops. The show seems to depict them closer. I adjusted to be more vague with time and hopefully read a little better.

When he finds Kokachin’s quarters in Cambulac empty, Marco does the only thing he can think to do: ride back to Xiangyang.

She must have gone to the Walled City with some of the other ladies of the court, maybe she had already settled into a new place in the palace, or perhaps she had fled altogether without him. It takes Marco some time to reach the Xiangyang, stopping only to switch horses once, and finds only resignation in his heart. He’d made the decision not to leave with her before the battle, determined to see this through, and in turn Kokachin had made her own decision that didn’t involve him. It hurts to realize that in the end, their places were not with each other.

Kokachin will marry the prince soon, then. Jingim, who hated Marco since his arrival in Cambulac and has threatened or attempted to kill him more times than not; Jingim, who still lies under the watch of healers in Xiangyang.

Marco can’t hate Jingim or feel jealousy; especially now that he’s earned the tentative foundations of respect. He can't stop thinking about _brother_ and the feel of Jingim’s fingers curled around his own, grip strong despite the blood loss.

There is no one in Jingim’s rooms in the palace save a pair of guards who give only disinterested looks. The prince appears to be asleep at first, but as Marco creeps closer, he realizes Jingim’s eyes are barely open. It's likely the only reason Marco is safe from others at Jingim's attendance.

“Prince Jingim,” Marco greets. “How do you fare?”

“Polo,” Jingim grunts, shifting to better look in Marco's direction. “The pain is nothing. I am expected to recover.”

Marco finds himself coming closer to stand at the prince's bedside. Jingim has been cleaned of blood and the wounds on his chest for as much debris as possible and wrapped. Marco considers the totality of the prince: from the proud curve of his lips even in such a state, the chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, the gentle curve of his hands over the sheet covering him. Jingim’s body is lean and solid, holding quite a few scars, wounds from older battles, but Marco focuses on a fresh one on Jingim’s left arm from Wuchang. It’s large and raw, still healing, following midway from the forearm to the elbow.

He remembers hearing the horses outside his little gifted house as the prince’s train rode, remembers Jingim standing tall in the center of horses and soldiers. Afterwards, Marco remembers staring at the smear of blood on the stone ground where Jingim had been, how sick to his stomach it had made him.

That had been before all the suspicion, the multiple attempts by Jingim’s own sword to meet Marco’s neck, and yet Marco couldn't care for what has happened in the past because he had still been terrified to hear the prince had fallen at Xiangyang. That fear had been nothing at the relief of finding Jingim still alive despite all circumstances.

“Have you reported to my father yet?”

The prince’s voice breaks through Marco's thoughts and the odd, but comfortable silence. He shakes his head, giving a weak smile. “No, I have not. I rode to Cambulac and have only just returned.”

Jingim looks ready to ask him but doesn’t. Instead, he says, “You returned to me first thing.”

“Yes,” Marco says. “I wished… I wished to see you, to see how you are.”

He wonders what he would have done if Kokachin had been here to see Jingim when he’d arrived. They must see each other eventually, but what would they say that wasn’t already announced by Kokachin’s empty quarters?

The prince hums quietly and closes his eyes. “I was told you were injured as well, Polo.”

“Not at all,” Marco says, though it’s not true. He’s been stiff since Sidao, made worse by the extensive riding, and he’s still trembling, though Hundred Eyes had relieved the pressure on his neck and limbs. The fingers of his left hand have been occasionally twitching without his control and as if antagonized by the mere thought, his hand spasms. Marco clenches it in a fist.

Jingim’s eyes are open again and he fixes Marco with an intense stare as he reaches out to brush fingertips over Marco’s knuckles. “Are you sure, Polo?”

“Yes, of course, Prince Jingim,” Marco says, struggling not to move away so as not to be rude, no matter how much he would like Jingim to keep doing it. “Have no worry for me, only cheer at our victory.”

The prince’s hand closes over Marco’s, thumb digging into the soft part between Marco's own thumb and finger. It seems to cause the trembling to dissipate enough to be bearable. Marco is embarrassed by how hot his face feels under the attention.

The silence between them stretches too long. Marco says, “I should let you sleep, Prince Jingim.”

“How strange,” Jingim says, “but every time I do, I hear you calling to me.”

Marco isn’t sure how to respond. His heart is in his throat threatening to choke him. “What do you mean?”

“When I try to sleep, I find myself again at the wall and I see fire. I see fire and smell death, but I hear _you_.” Pain flickers over Jingim’s face before he settles. “That is what wakes me, and I am grateful for it.”

All Marco can manage to say is, “I am grateful you are to be well, Prince Jingim.”

“I want you to wake me for real, later.” Jingim’s expression has begun to close off, becoming the regal mask that Marco knows well. “You must tell me how the Khan looks on his new throne.”

“That, I have seen,” Marco says. This is safe for their early acceptance of each other. “He looked as if it had always been meant for him. I am sure you will join him at his side soon.”

Jingim holds his gaze before giving a tight nod. “Sleep well, Polo.” He closes his eyes and turns his head, effectively dismissing Marco. 

Marco can’t help but watch the prince for a moment, confused and yet contented, but the encroaching stiffness and pain in his left side is sobering. He leaves before anyone can come to check on the prince and find him here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another meeting with Jingim makes things more confusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, inspiration has struck! Although I must still say it hesitantly. I kind of know where I'm headed, let's hope I can get us there.
> 
> Edit: Fixed an inconsistency. It had been a small reference to a thing I had changed, so sorry for those it had thrown if you had noticed it. Also, very late midterms have been delaying me.

Marco sleeps hard that first night back in Xiangyang and wakes up feeling worse. His neck is stiff and it takes several minutes of sitting with his arm extended, clenching and unclenching a fist, to work through the sharp tingling that radiates from his shoulder to his fingertips. Marco's already dreading the training with Hundred Eyes he is sure to do later.

He’s been given a small, but beautiful room. Marco watches the sky get brighter while he works through the exercises, stretching his arm and rotating his shoulder, trying not to think about Kokachin and how she’s doing, or about Jingim and his dreams.

Eventually, Marco gains better movement, and gets up to wash himself and change into fresh clothes. He’s hungry, but skips the offer to break his fast by a servant outside. He’d rather keep his promise to Prince Jingim and see him first thing this morning.

Perhaps he can find happiness in this, to devote himself to serving his Prince and his Khan, so long as Kokachin never comes to harm. If it was not too hopeful to presume, maybe it would not be so much a prison to her. But what can Marco say, when he chose to stay? 

Another servant intercepts before Marco can make it to Jingim’s rooms. “The Khan will see you now, Master Polo,” he says before disappearing. Marco stares down the hall that leads to the prince before turning to follow after the servant.

Inside the fine quarters that the Khan has chosen, it's obvious that Kublai has been impatient for Marco. He didn't think his absence would be so acknowledged in the wake of such a victory.

“Did you find what you left behind in Cambulac?” the Khan asks, snorting in amusement when Marco flounders, but he’s not intent on a response. Kublai waves a hand to cut him off. “Tell me your version of the battle. You’ve had time to work it through, have you not?”

“Of course, sire,” Marco says, and launches into his tale. When he speaks of the prince, Marco can feel the slow, mounting tension of muscles from shoulder to hand. He clasps his hands behind his back to mask the discomfort with a more confident stance. Marco won’t let himself falter, giving the story he knows Jingim deserves.

The Khan listens especially to his account of Sidao's fall by Hundred Eyes. Marco digs his thumb into the pressure point in his hand when it gives a spasm, thinking of Jingim the night before. It’s only a minimal relief.

The Khan grunts his approval and dismisses Marco.

 

***

 

When finally Marco arrives in the prince’s rooms, Jingim is being fussed over by servants while attempting to dress.

“I can do it,” Jingim snaps. “I must do it.”

The heavy white bandages are spotted red at the shoulder and chest. The prince has trousers on, but doesn't seem to be able to lift his injured arm enough to pull on the inner robe. When he winces and drops the piece of clothing, every movement is strained. He slaps away hands of servants trying to help.

“I will be fine,” Jingim says harshly, but then lighter, “I _am_ fine.”

The prince looks up; he's very pale and his eyes are ringed dark like he hasn't actually slept. _I should have come sooner_ , Marco thinks, although he’s not sure what else he could done when expected by both Khan and Prince.

“Leave us,” Jingim says to the room at large. As servants file out, he leans to retrieve the robe from the ground, but Marco darts forward to help before the prince can stretch too far.

It jars Marco’s own stiff muscles and he fully expects to be yelled at, but Marco ignores scoops the robe up and gently shakes the wrinkles free. Jingim simply holds his gaze while Marco presents the clothing.

“Prince,” Marco says. "Good day to you." 

Jingim sighs by way of acquiescing. He steps up to slide his good arm into the corresponding sleeve of the robe, but winces as they try together to gingerly pull the other sleeve up the injured arm and over his shoulders.

Marco folds the robe closed, one set of tingling fingers resting on Jingim’s chest over the bandages, and swallows hard. It is like tiny needles shooting up his arm, a strange division of feeling compared to smooth fabric and solid warmth under his other hand.

“I was told once of the importance of appearance in the face of death,” the prince says softly. They’re so close that Marco can feel Jingim’s breath on his face, smell tea and medicine.

When Marco glances up, he finds Jingim's eyes trained on his own. This is such an intimate thing, Jingim vulnerable and Marco giving such a service as this. He doesn’t say anything, instead pulls away to reach for the outer robe. Marco opens it up and they repeat the motions of manipulating Jingim into his clothes with the least amount of trouble as possible, finishing with the belt. The prince strikes as regal of a figure as always.

“I’ve been abed too long,” Jingim says. He takes a deep breath, a slight stitch at the end that causes a wince, before exhaling. When Marco goes to step away again, the prince reaches out and grabs a shoulder with his good hand to say, “I will see the Khan today. You’ve already seen him, haven’t you?”

Marco nods.“I did.”

“Before seeing me.”

Marco pauses, but nods again, and barely holds back a noise of pain that bubbles up when Jingim yanks him close, fingers twisted in cloth for leverage.

“Was there a war council?” Jingim demands. “You have to tell me, Polo. I could have been there. I should have.”

“The Khan only heard my words,” Marco says immediately, “And you will hear his when you see him, yes?”

“Jingim!” a voice interrupts. “You are out of bed today!”

Lady Chabi stands in the doorway. Marco realizes how close Jingim and him are standing and steps away, bowing to the Empress. She ignores him and comes to stand at her son’s side.

“You are strong, my son,” Chabi says with a smile, hand cupping the side of Jingim’s face. “The Khan knows of your ferocity, and he knows of your hardiness against the fire-cannons.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Jingim says almost bitterly, “but I will. He will not send me back to Cambulac.”

“It has not been long." Marco stands straighter when both sets of eyes turn to him. He says, “You will ride soon again at the head, Prince Jingim."

“You surely will,” Chabi says, hand coming to hover over the padding of bandages. “Besides,” her gaze slides to Marco and then back to Jingim, beaming up at her son. “We must return to Cambulac at some point if there’s to be a wedding now that we’ve had our victory.”

Jingim flushes lightly and looks away. “Yes... Yes, I know.”

The Empress sighs softly. “You need not worry, my son, but do as you must. I promise you things progress as they should.” She leans up to press a kiss to Jingim’s cheek and then takes her leave, but as she does, makes a point of staring at Marco.

Marco keeps his eyes to the floor, but inwardly burns with shame. His feelings are his worst kept secret.

“Leave, Polo,” Jingim says, a frown on his face. He seems troubled now and it’s worrisome.

Marco does as he is told.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More pain for Marco, but the possibility of healing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue to crawl forward in the story! Thank you to my readers! I love you all, seriously.
> 
> The acupressure that is done on Marco is based in part on my own experience although that had been a western version.

The day is rough indeed.

“It is not easy to recover from the mantis’ strike,” Hundred Eyes says. 

He had relieved the pressure from the nerves that Sidao compressed immediately after the fight, but it’s discouraging nonetheless that Marco still feels the pain. They sit together with Hundred Eyes facing Marco’s side, fingers at the curve of neck when the muscles spasm under his hand. It’s continued on enough to be annoying to Marco as well as painful.

“You will continue your training,” Hundred Eyes says, “but we will also do this and you will heal.”

He braces one palm on Marco’s back and then digs the opposite fingertips into the meat of his neck at the initial point of injury. It’s far harder than what had been expected and Marco closes his eyes. Marco imagines Jingim’s hand on him instead as a solace despite the easy shift of the prince’s mercurial mood, hears _brother_ and _you call to me_ like it’s an absolution.

Hundred Eyes works in a tight little circle that moves out from the first point to others in the neck. He drops under Marco’s collarbone to press just above the heart, deep enough that Marco gasps. When Hundred Eyes switches positions to reach the far point of the shoulder, he suddenly wonders, did the prince keep the crucifix? He hadn’t seen it, but did Jingim tuck it close away?

Every new point causes an numbness that’s quickly replaced by pain replaced by a kind of relief that makes tears want to spring free. Marco scrubs at his face with the back of his free hand as Hundred Eyes guides him to lie back with his arm extended, pulling and stretching much like Marco had done to himself before Hundred Eyes returns to the apply pressure to the points along on the injured side of his body.

Marco hopes Jingim made it to his father to talk and that the Khan had opened up confidence to to the prince. He can’t help but think about the odd morning request, if the prince will call on Marco’s presence again and if it will be soon, _when_ Jingim will marry Kokachin and if it will be soon…

 _Why_ is he so easily crying and to whom do these tears belong? Horrified, Marco sits up, but when he goes to stand, Hundred Eyes holds him fast.

“It’s nothing, Marco. The mind releasing the pain with the body.”

“Thank you, Sifu, ” Marco says, but he does not feel reassured. He should not cry for either of them.

Confident that Marco won’t try to leave, Hundred Eyes resumes his work by rolling Marco’s hand back and forth, thumbs on the points of the palm. “It is fool thing to try and hide this,” he says, shaking his head. “Confront your pain and then you can heal.”

Hundred Eyes has Marco lie on his stomach next. Strong fingers return to the initial point on the neck but work back to follow the spine to those coinciding points. Marco nearly bites through his tongue to keep the noise of pain when muscles stiffen in protest. As grateful as he is for Hundred Eyes and his ministrations, all Marco wants in this moment is Jingim, as utterly baffling as it is. He thinks of the prince, gritting through the pain of a torn chest, so _determined_.

“Marco. Marco, _breathe_. You must breathe.”

Everything stops. Marco struggles to opens his eyes and realizes Hundred Eyes as pulled him up into sitting. He can’t, oh God help him, he _can’t_ breathe, he feels suffocated. One of the many things that Hundred Eyes tried to teach him was to control his breathing, but now all the air seems to slip out of Marco’s lungs to never return, along with a stream of tears from his eyes.

“Marco,” Hundred Eyes demands, “Can you hear me? Just breathe.”

He tries to focus on his teacher’s hands that are curled around his upper arms to ground him. Marco feels nauseous, but after long enough he thinks he’s returned to himself Marco says, “Yes, I’m sorry, Sifu.”

Hundred Eyes sighs long and deep. “Confront your pain and then you can heal.”

 

***

 

Things progress; the Khan will stay in Xiangyang for the time being. There is talk at court about a continued campaign to secure the new addition to the empire, about places that should now bow more easily to the Khan. There’s also been light talk about Kaidu that makes Marco realize he hasn’t seen Byamba at all since returning.

There is also more talk about the wedding, but with The Khan over a game before they retire for the night. By then, Marco is stiff again in the one side, but at least it’s good to know that he has found himself back into a routine with Kublai. That is, until the Khan begins to complain that the Empress had suddenly suggested that the ceremony could take place somewhere in Persia instead of back in Cambulac. The Khan says that she thinks the new couple could adjourn there for a while to give Jingim an extended time to heal, but Kublai laughs when he gets to how well he thought any longer of a rest would go with his son, a beautiful new wife to sweeten the stay or not.

Marco had seen Kokachin once, standing among the other women at court. They’d met gazes and shared a short, strained smile before she’d been the one to look away first. It stuck with Marco the rest of the day, until long after he’s lying in bed that night.

He can’t sleep. He doesn’t want to sleep, not really, not with so much uncertainty all around and with himself. Marco gets up from bed to wander, planning to do so until he exhausts since his has no desire to put pen to paper. If he was in Cambulac, he would go riding into the Grasslands, but that brings up memories of Kokachin and their meetings under the tree and the ache in his heart. Marco doesn’t want to find out if he’s able to go beyond Xiangyang’s palace walls just yet.

If he’s lucky, no one of consequence will be awake, but Marco has never known Fortuna to smile upon him.

“Do I dream? Am I sleeping as I walk now?” Jingim asks, down the hall from Marco’s room. He might have been leaving, half-turned and wavering in place. He’s in his gold sleeping robe that’s tied loose and exposing the edges of bandages.

"Prince Jingim," Marco greets. He thinks about the session with Hundred Eyes and his embarrassing reaction, how he can’t even begin to explain now in hindsight the emotions he had felt besides the most obvious of _want_.

The prince comes over to Marco, slippered feet quiet on the floor. His voice stops Marco’s breath as it drops lower to say, “No, Marco, you are more like a phantom than a dream.”

This whole situation feels like a dream. It may be the first he’s heard the prince say his given name and it’s left Marco unable to find an immediate response. He wants to hear it again. He wishes to have heard it before from Jingim as if could have been everything he had needed when Marco had been at his lowest.

“Forgive me, Prince," Marco says, “I am restless and it seems you are too.”

Jingim takes another step that nearly brings them into sharing breath. Eventually, the intensity softens into something less as Jingim inspects him. 

He says, “Yes, I am. Why don’t you walk with me, then.”

Marco nods and lets the prince lead, easily keeping pace. Jingim’s steps are slow and sure, and he keeps his injured arm cradled his chest. Marco keeps watch of Jingim out the corner of his eye.

They walk in silence, passing equally silent guards. After a random corner, Jingim laughs with sudden dark amusement. “Where are your words, Polo? Gone with the late hour or with my arrival? Where were you running off to before this?”

Marco shakes his head. “I was running to my sleep. My words elude me just as much.”

Another hall is walked down and another corner turned. They walk until they find the throne room and the guards stationed there are told to wait on the outside of the entryway by the prince. Marco tries not to be nervous but follows after Jingim anyway.

“You are my curse, I think,” the prince says, “and I think far too much.”

“Prince?” Marco asks, but Jingim doesn’t respond with words. He reaches out with his free hand to snag Marco by the sleeve and move further into the room. Jingim pulling him along firmly but not unkind, until they’re standing nearly at whole of the Song throne.

Jingim seems to be contemplating the throne while Marco considers the prince. He remembers every threat and every near strike, every moment that brought them to this right here, especially the recent ones to which Marco clings. These are the ones he continued to return to while in pain seeking relief under Hundred Eyes’ healing manipulations.

Just as sudden as this realization, Marco feels the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day hit him.

Jingim nearly growls, “You _are_ hurt, Polo. Did you lie to me before?”

“What?” Marco asks, startled. He had been absentmindedly shifting from foot to foot, trying to stretch stiff limbs and rubbing at his neck while openly regarding the prince.When had the prince turned to regard him as well? He tries not to think about why Jingim had gone from _Marco_ back to _Polo_ and if that had been a fluke in the first place.

“No, I did not lie,” he says. “Perhaps though I am ready to sleep.”

Jingim narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe Marco, but says, “Let’s walk back then.”

“Jingim,” Marco says, dropping the title, so sure the prince would correct him considering the last time, but Jingim doesn’t, only waits with his eyebrows slightly lifted in question, so Marco licks his lips as he tries to parse through his lost words. “Jingim,” he repeats just to try it. “I want to thank you for your company.”

Jingim looks away from Marco to take deep, shuddering breath that ends with another wince before he turns away. “Yes, thank you.”


End file.
